


Best Out of Three

by seaquestions



Series: Minimegs Week [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: ......maybe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ex-Decepticon Minimus, Exes, Getting Back Together, M/M, Minimus is not a loadbearer AU, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquestions/pseuds/seaquestions
Summary: Once, there were brighter days. Once, there was Megatron. Once, there were dates in cafés and late-night correspondences.Unfortunately, nothing good could last forever.(Set in the far future ofWorst Out of Two, written for Minimegsweek 2020.)
Relationships: Megatron/Minimus Ambus
Series: Minimegs Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459591
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32
Collections: Minimegs Week 2020





	Best Out of Three

**Author's Note:**

> ya boi's managed 2 wrangle the brain goo, baby. this is Meant for day 1: hope/regret but it's wednesday... ah, what can ya do. also, let's preemptively chalk up any possible timeline inconsistencies to "it's an au and i just wanted megatron and minimus to be exes" awright.

Not a day went by that Minimus wasn't forced to hear Tyrest go on about how kind, how generous, how _altruistic_ he was for allowing the beastformer to be his assistant.

“Thank Solomus, you're forged. It's bad enough that I'm made to work with a Decepticon dog.”

Minimus sighed. “An ex-decepticon fox” would at least be more factually accurate. Though it wasn't as if Minimus ever transformed into his alt around the mech anyway.

The constant condescension jabbed at his thin armour, but Minimus still knew some of his worth. He knew that the Chief Justice would be floundering without him, especially since Blockus died and was replaced by the much less organised Convoy. This new Ultra Magnus would not, and, honestly, should not be doing any of the paperwork the job normally required. And that was where Minimus fit in.

When it came to boring bureaucracy, nobody was quite as efficient as him.

He took pride in his work, being a mech behind the scenes, though the lack of credit grated on him at times. He was a nobody, and while it was a lonely existence, for a Decepticon turncoat—being nobody was a good thing.

A good thing he was going to lose, thanks to Convoy's recklessness.

Ultra Magnus, as the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, was supposed to attend a negotiation between the Autobots and Decepticons this week concerning the trades happening on Xetaxxis. However, due to a frankly avoidable injury, the load-bearer was in the medbay, Ultra Magnus was out of commission, and nobody was around to take Convoy's place, while the Decepticons refused to reschedule.

The meeting would have been manageable for the Chief Justice alone if Convoy hadn't made such a mess of things on his way out. Tyrest had bigger concerns, so Minimus was on a tight time crunch to rewrite all the documents with the updated situation. To his dismay, it simply wasn't enough.

Perhaps as some sort of punishment, Chief Justice Tyrest forced him to come along to the negotiations.

“If your brother was still alive, we wouldn't be in this mess,” the mech complained, “He would have been the perfect candidate to replace Blockus.”

Minimus tuned him out and clenched his jaw, bitter. If _he_ had been born a load-bearer like Dominus…

No use thinking about that now. Their ship had landed at the site, and Minimus would simply have to put faith in being on neutral ground. It's not as if Tarn or any of the DJD would be around. Just whoever the Autobots and the Decepticons had sent to negotiate. Nobody particularly noteworthy, he hoped.

As he and Tyrest entered the conference room and sat down, waiting for the Decepticons to arrive, Minimus suddenly noticed the very distinct figures of Prowl and Optimus Prime sitting on one end.

Wait. This meeting wasn't _that_ important, was it? In his stress, was there something he missed? He flipped through his notes, quietly panicking in his seat. If the Prime was here, then that meant…

Minimus braced himself.

* * *

Once, there were brighter days.

Minimus would sneak out of the Ambus estate and roam around, eating street food and walking into bookstores, living for the hustle and bustle of downtown Rodion. He was always a quiet mech, and he still always felt like an outsider to the city, but it was better than being alone at home.

Once, there was Megatron.

They had met in one of those bookstores, stumbled into each other, really. Minimus tripped and fell into the arms of the miner, and perhaps it was too hopelessly romantic for him to say, but he had felt a connection. So did Megatron, apparently, because by the time the sun had set, after they had spent hours together discussing the finer points of Circinus' Golden Age poetry, he had given him his comm-line.

Once, there were dates in cafés and late-night correspondences. Megatron had seen Minimus' alt mode and accepted him as he was. Minimus had found out that Megatron wanted to be a medic, and was determined to give him as many datapads on it as he could, though it couldn't be much if Megatron wanted to keep them in the mines. He had also gotten to know Megatron's friend, Impactor, who was abrasive but caring in his own way. When he was stuck in the estate, fetching files for his initiator, Minimus held onto hope that he could perhaps one day leave the Ambus name behind. Sure, he and Megatron would most likely not be able to legally conjugate, but that didn't matter, and, ah, that line of thinking was already too wishful, too embarrassing to begin with!

Unfortunately, nothing good could last forever.

Megatron had gone. To a cell, to Messatine, to Croteus 12. Somewhere along the way, correspondence had been cut. He had tried his best, but Minimus could do nothing at that point. He himself had preoccupations, as Dominus took over as head of the House after the death of Lexus Ambus, and as he found work in law, under Emirate Xaaron. Years had gone by, and he'd begun to lose all the shreds of his optimism. Until he found out where Megatron was, from the news of all places.

In Kaon. As a gladiator, as Lord of the Decepticons.

It was bewildering, yes, but no matter how different the mech had become, he would still be the Megatron he fell for, wouldn't he? So Minimus resigned from his position and made his way to Kaon.

But in the end, they had both changed too much.

Oh, they tried, yes. It's the reason why Minimus took on the purple brand. And for a good while, they had been able to patch up the giant hole in their relationship enough to tentatively fall in love again. 

But the patch failed to hold. Perhaps neither of them were in the right place or time for it.

(“—it's us or them, and I'm choosing us. We _need_ these resources, Minimus, I can't understand how you're so against this. Frankly, by Cybertronian standards, they aren't even fully sentient!”

Slamming a hand on the desk in uncharacteristic anger, Minimus had replied, “By the Functionist Council's standards, neither was I!”)

That was only one of many arguments, and it was probably for the best that he left. As his tiny shuttle escaped into the vastness of space, his one hope was that Megatron hadn't become so uncaring that he'd put Minimus on the List.

* * *

By the time the heavy doors slid open to reveal Megatron's large grey frame, Minimus had finished refreshing his memory, reorganised his pile of datapads, and schooled his expression into one of cold disinterest. However Megatron reacted, he'd be able to handle it.

But when that piercing red stare fell onto him, Minimus somehow hadn't expected Megatron's eyes to suddenly look so haunted.

His audials picked up Megatron's sub-vocal line, whispering, “Minimus?”

He looked away, not wanting to face his old lover, but he could still feel the warlord's eyes on him.The room had quieted, and the Prime's gaze shifted from his nemesis to the Chief Justice's assistant, not understanding why Megatron had ignored his greeting to instead stare at a minibot with such a complex mixture of emotions on his face.

Then Soundwave stepped in to start the conference, and Megatron managed to regain his composure enough to sit down and make his demands as he usually would. Though, as Minimus noted, not without his eyes flicking back to Minimus every once in a while, a longing look to them, and not without a pained impatience in his voice. Every time Minimus spoke, every time he shifted, or gestured, he had Megatron's full attention. Passing a datapad over, he felt Megatron's rough hands brush against his, and linger.

It was almost distracting.

However, Minimus was nothing if not professional, and so he managed to follow along perfectly fine.

But there was something about the information he himself presented that shook him. There had been no attacks on organic worlds by the Decepticons in… ages. They had been abiding by the Code of Interplanetary Conflict perfectly well since only a few vorns after Minimus left. The rumours of Phase Sixers being made were—just that. Rumours. How this managed to simply exist in his mind completely unexamined was beyond him, he _had_ the data, he knew the statistics, but somehow, perhaps in his tunnel vision, or from working alongside the Chief Justice so much, he could not reconcile with it.

(He knew from Convoy, there were several morally questionable ops, discretely authorized by Autobots like Prowl—and if he pretended he didn't know, if he had imagined that the Decepticons were doing the same, just to make himself sleep better at night, what would that _make_ him?)

When the conference wrapped up and all the documents were signed, Minimus had gotten up and scurried off before Megatron could even get up from his seat. He had much to think about. After all, just because the Decepticons weren't infiltrating planets, that didn't mean they suddenly became the “good guys;” their scientists, namely Shockwave, were still conducting unethical experiments, and the Decepticons were still largely at fault for the acceleration of Cybertron's demise, weren't they?

Minimus quickly made his way to the hangar and onto Tyrest's ship, the _Iustitia_. If the Chief Justice berated him later for his quick departure, so be it. He had his reasons.

He settled into his room, small and only furnished with a bed and a nightstand. A part of him regretted running away, wishing instead that he faced Megatron head-on instead of being a coward. Another part of him felt cruel satisfaction. Yes, _let_ Megatron yearn for him, chase after him. Minimus was under no obligation to stay.

(Another, much suppressed part of him would like nothing more than to be caught. To fall into his lover's arms again, to be held and kept. Minimus frowned. That part of him was an idiot.)

Just as he anticipated, before the ship took off, he received a message on his line. And then a few more. And then silence. He ignored them staunchly.

* * *

But some time later, in his tiny office on Tyrest's moonbase, as he was editing his 13th draft of _Terms of Peace_ , he felt such a frame-numbing loneliness that he caved in, and opened his inbox.

MT — Minimus. I was afraid that you'd perished. I searched for you… Are you well?  
MT — You left in a hurry, understandably. So I'll make this quick. I don't want to bother you.  
MT — I am requesting a meeting with you. Not as Leader of the Decepticons, but as myself.  
MT — To have a discussion with you, hopefully, over some energon, together.  
MT — If this is acceptable, please respond to this message when you can.

MT — …I would like to see you once more, at the very least.

Minimus closed his eyes and felt his spark ache. No, no, he shouldn't respond now, not when he was feeling so—so lonely, so lovesick. He sighed.

_Megatron…_

He debated his response for what felt like hours. Finally, he wrote,

End the war first, then try again. — MA

**Author's Note:**

> :3c


End file.
